Pathogen
by TheWorldInBlue
Summary: "Then, suddenly, a strong force knocked him backwards, driving the air out of his lungs, and leaving him vulnerable and gasping for breath on the ground. He clutched at his stomach, trying to fight off whatever had enveloped it."


**A/N: **I haven't actually finished Prototype yet, but a friend has it at the moment, so I won't be finishing it for a while... Therefore, I apologize if anything about Alex seems odd, I haven't had much time to know his character. Also, this is my first crossover, I believe... Um, it also has quite a graphic scene which I may or may not have done well on XDDD so, please prepare yourself.

_Disclaimer: (I've decided to start mentioning this) _I don't own the ideas for Prototype or Assassin's Creed, I just play the games. And then I obsess over the characters, but that's about it...

**Pathogen**

Desmond Miles, who went by another name—well, two, actually, if you counted his ancestors—stood, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

He stood in cyberspace. The Animus version of cyberspace. Where everything was the same. Bright, gray, millions of chemical formulae and microcomputer symbols dancing around his head, twirling around his body, wreaking havoc on his vision.

He didn't hate it. In fact, he had grown quite used to it. Even the part where his vision screwed up, to a point. It was almost like a genetically induced state of intoxication.

But, this… This was not the cyberspace he knew. The gray was not bright, the formulae and symbols hurled themselves erratically around, disappearing and reappearing hazily in the endless abyss.

He didn't feel the high that came along with obtruding in another's memories. He felt…sick. Like he had gotten the flu, or caught some sort of bug, as ridiculous as that sounded.

"Rebecca?" Desmond called, his voice echoing in the lifeless atmosphere. The echoes of his question were the only sounds around him. He called again. This time, he heard a faint noise, much like a strange vibration, but more like a tiny whistle. He stepped forwards, delicately, not knowing whether it was safe to do so.

"Desmond…" Rebecca's voice crackled over a static-filled connection, warping its way to Desmond's ears. "…you out…"

"What?" Desmond's body sent a surge of adrenaline to his brain, in a desperate attempt to dull the fear that had begun to spread through him. "Rebecca—Rebecca, I can't hear you!" There was no reply. Desmond rubbed the backs of his hands firmly against his eyes, sucking in a breath.

He exhaled, his eyelids snapping open.

The same cloudy landscape greeted him, much to his dismay.

Desmond inhaled deeply through his nose, willing the strength of his ancestors to flow deeply within him. He felt smooth energy coursing through him, similar to how he normally felt when synching fully with Altaïr or Ezio.

Then, suddenly, a strong force knocked him backwards, driving the air out of his lungs, and leaving him vulnerable and gasping for breath on the ground. He clutched at his stomach, trying to fight off whatever had enveloped it.

It was cold, slimy, and tight.

And it sure as hell wasn't letting go anytime soon.

"W-What…?" Desmond croaked, squinting in pain as the cold grip on his middle grasped his diaphragm, creating searing pain in every tiny breath he took. "Shit…"

"Desmond Miles."

A voice as cold as hell itself; colder than the force compressing him.

"Subject Seventeen." The voice continued. "Ancestors: Altaïr ibn La Ahad, 1191; Ezio Auditore da Firenze, late fifteenth century." A curious pause followed, as if the owner of the voice was studying Desmond closely. "You don't look much like an Assassin."

The hold on Desmond loosened considerably; not altogether, but considerably.

"Who the hell are you..?" Desmond, eyes finally registering sight again, peered up at the silhouette above him. Everything began to shift into focus, and Desmond finally saw who had supposedly taken him captive.

A leather jacket. A brown hoodie, dark, denim jeans, a messily untucked shirt.

Distant ashen-blue eyes placed themselves at the top of the stranger's face, perching just above a strong nose and a mouth set in a disapproving line. Desmond could faintly see wild strands of brown hair peeking from under his hood.

"Who am I…?" The man said thoughtfully, pausing again, as if he were thinking. "My name was Dr. Alex J. Mercer. I lived in Manhattan Island, New York City, New York. I had a sister, a girlfriend…" His voice trailed off, seemingly despondent as it faltered.

"Alright…" Desmond murmured. "This guy's just a little weird," he thought. Why was he saying everything in the past tense? It should've hardly mattered to Desmond now, but it was one of those things that would continue to bother him—if he made it out alive, that was. "Let me go."

The same cold voice returned. "No. I need answers." Desmond couldn't help but center intently on the stranger's eyes. There was something there that wasn't…human. The icy blue-grey orbs stared firmly back at him, traces of malice hidden in the stare.

"Answers to what?" Desmond struggled a bit, though gave up when he felt himself being crushed.

"To why I really died," the man growled, leaning down just an inch before Desmond's face. "To why I was killed by the Assassins. I need those answers."

Desmond's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about! You can't be dead, because you're obviously the bastard trying to kill me—

"Quiet!" Desmond was thrown vehemently across the grey ground, skidding to a halt on his back. He willed himself to stand, and facing his opponent, he…

There was only one problem. The man had vanished.

Desmond soon picked up on something very abnormal within the Animus. The cloudy scenery which was the norm had turned red and black, looking much like a hellfire storm. A message flashed directly in front of him, or was it much farther away? It was ominous in all meanings of the word:

**ERROR: C: files/baby/systemFACT/**

**VIRUS DETECTED: 003402ZEUS **

**FILE UNCLEANABLE **

**FILE NOT FOUND **

It was all nothing but a foreign language to him. Most of it, anyway. It should've been basic, he guessed, but Rebecca wasn't here to explain things this time. He didn't have long to wish for her presence; an angry shout reached his ears from behind. He spun, turning to face the source, though he had a good idea of who it was.

Desmond gasped sharply.

The sight that met his eyes was not the one he had expected.

Elevated on several long, sinuous objects was the man known as Alex J. Mercer. The thick objects deeply resembled tentacles, and were flexing anxiously, as if they were waiting for something. It almost made Desmond retch.

"…What the hell are you?" Desmond backed away, even though Mercer was nowhere near him. He didn't know how fast the blue-eyed man would be able to travel with the added appendages.

"I am no longer Dr. Alex J. Mercer. The man known by that name is dead." He leveled himself to the ground, while his tentacles remained writhing in the air. "I am the Blacklight Virus, strain DX-1118—also known as ZEUS." With inhumane speed, the man (or was it the virus?) ran to the left of Desmond, eyes locked on the Assassin. The predatory look in his eyes sent a spinal chill through him.

"Well, that's great and all, Zeus…" His voice held a slight tremble; he mentally berated himself for being so scared. This guy was nothing but a man with tentacles, right? That wasn't so scary. Desmond had seen crap in his Bleeding Effect hazes that were scarier than Mercer. "But, I don't know who killed you." Mercer snorted.

"You're lying, Assassin. I know you and those GENTEK bastards were in on my death. I want to know why, and you're not leaving until I find out."

Gradually, Alex Mercer became more than just a man with tentacles.

He began to shift grotesquely, his body bubbling and oozing dark liquid. Desmond couldn't even tell where the misshapen man's chest had been just moments before. When the odd conversion was complete, there stood Alex Mercer, nearly the same as he had been, sans tentacles. Two large fist-like limbs had sprouted from his wrists, looking much like giant chunks of concrete.

"Holy shit…" Desmond muttered. He had barely a second to react as he was sent flying up into the grey mist, arms and legs flailing. The tremendous force that had propelled him into the air had been the great strength of Alex's fists as he plummeted them downwards, hitting the bottom with a loud crack. Desmond knew he was no match for Alex; the problem was, he didn't know how to remedy that.

Mercer was like nothing he had ever seen. Blacklight virus? Zeus? GENTEK?

"This makes as much sense to me as Rebecca's technical jargon…" Desmond stood as quickly as possible, ignoring the searing ache in his back and shoulders. "Look, I think we should talk this out, maybe—

"Shut up." Mercer spat. His fists shrank and twisted, soon producing strong hands; human hands. "Warren Vidic. Tell me all you know, and I won't make it so painful."

Desmond _almost_ retorted. Almost.

"Uh, he's the biggest Templar bastard in all of history..?" Desmond, despite how long he had known the man, found that he didn't actually know much about him. "He types like a dyslexic 13 year old, and he is solely responsible for making my life a living hell. Also, I think he's the boss at Abstergo, but don't quote me on that."

That wasn't really a retort, was it?

"What the hell do you think I'm going to do with that info?" Alex, his voice gruff, questioned. Desmond shrugged. He decided, too late, that the shrug had been a terrible move.

Within moments, he was pinned flat underneath a heavy, but lean frame belonging to no other than Alex Mercer. Mercer's breath was ragged on his cheek, and harsh in his ear. His misty irises were no doubt annoyed, but at the same time…curious.

"There are other methods of interrogation." He smirked. "I know how to get information out of you."

From the way the sudden tentacle slid across Desmond's chest, he had a feeling it was going to be more than just information that came out of him.

Desmond shivered visibly, casting his eyes down at the wet black limb across his hoodie.

Alex chuckled. "I've learned a thing or two about carnal desires…" The tip of the tentacle flicked teasingly against Desmond's chin, prodding his head up. "You'd think that, being a virus, sex wouldn't be something to take interest in… But, you'd be surprised. This body's libido pops up from time to time, and I have to satisfy it somehow."

"…W-what…"

Mercer continued speaking, gaze coming in to focus on Desmond's neck. "You don't have any idea of how many men and women… With just a look, a movement, a word."

"So, in addition to being some sort of super virus, he's also a sex god. Just my luck." Desmond mused.

"Not being human has its advantages, Miles." Mercer practically purred. He leaned down, licking Desmond's neck. He pursed his lips over a vein, feeling the blood rush frantically downwards. "Are you scared…?"

"Hell no." Not yet, anyway. "Just a little creeped out, personally." Desmond heard Alex laugh low in his throat. He lifted slightly off of Desmond, just enough to look him in the face.

"You should see the look on their faces after I begin to consume them." Mercer smiled cruelly as the fear began to settle into Desmond.

"Consume…?" Desmond repeated, his voice tinged with just the slightest hint of dread. "You eat people after you sleep with them?"

"…I don't always sleep with them." There was a tense silence. Desmond thought about struggling, kicking, punching…

And then he thought about being eaten by Alex Mercer.

"Don't worry, Miles…" Mercer's eyes became even more silver, as if in response to his animalistic lust. Desmond figured the blue part of his irises solely represented what was left of his humanity, although it was only a guess. "I haven't decided whether you'll become part of the gene pool yet."

Desmond watched in horror as Mercer's right hand formed a devilishly sharp blade. He wouldn't dare struggle now.

"Please, Alex, don't—

"Now it's "please, Alex"? Don't make me laugh, Miles." the blade-handed man mocked Desmond. "I'm not going to carve you up yet. I haven't even had my fun." With the metal pointed directly at Desmond's chest, he dove in, ripping the fabric. He drew a line slowly downwards; Desmond had shut his eyes, praying that when he opened them that this would be nothing but a false memory.

Intentionally, Mercer pushed a little harder with the blade at one point, tracing a thin line of blood on Desmond's abdomen. The Assassin's eyes opened wide at the tiny pinpricks of pain, his pupils diluting. He gasped when his body and blood was immediately exposed to the air, a cold sting running the length of his stomach.

"Do you like that, Miles?" Without waiting for an answer, Alex bent down, trailing his tongue along the line of crimson fluid. The tentacles that held him down—they had seemingly multiplied—frenzied wildly at Alex's taste of Desmond's blood.

"S-stop that, get the hell off of me!" Desmond cried. He felt Alex inhale against his skin, drinking in the coppery scent of blood. Alex moaned, looking directly at Desmond.

"What happened to "please, Alex"? I want to hear more of that, Miles…" Mercer lapped once more at the bloody trail. "God, Miles, your _blood_… Maybe I will consume you…" While Desmond knew perfectly well that the latter sentence had been an afterthought, it still scared the hell out of him.

"I'm sure we can work something else out, Alex..!" Something else that didn't involve eating Desmond. "I-I'll introduce you to Shaun, he can tell you a crapload about the Templars, who I'm sure are working with Kentek—

"GENTEK—

"Yeah, them… And, Rebecca knows a lot about—

Desmond arched sharply upwards, a strangled cry escaping through his clenched teeth. He felt sharp, bitter pain on his ribcage as puncture wounds pressed into the skin.

"Wh—what the hell are you doing?" Desmond tried to keep from screaming, but found that it was nearly impossible.

"I needed another taste. Besides, you have to have a little something to remember our little meeting, don't you…" Desmond shivered, the vibrations from Mercer's chapped lips tickling him. "Don't worry, Miles," Alex said, "You'll have fun too."

Somehow, Desmond strongly doubted that.

"F—fuck…" Desmond hissed, face contorting in pain. Mercer's lidded lithium gaze stared darkly at him, breathing shallow. A tentacle worked itself inside of him, after having slinked its way along his manhood and down to his entrance. Its cold, slimy, exterior felt foreign to Desmond, even as it caressed his prostate.

Mercer chuckled. "Miles." Desmond gritted his teeth, his eyes casting an angry glare towards the man above him.

"The hell do you want..?" he gasped; another tentacle had joined the first, making his eyes water in absolute desperation. Nothing but discomforting ache shot through him, starting from his rear, and traveling to his stomach, twisting it into sickening knots.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" It was more of a statement than a question. Mercer attempted to smile sympathetically—unfortunately for him, his inhumanity made that nearly impossible. "You're too tight here."

"S—shut up, I'll fucking kill…" Desmond's voice trailed off as his mouth opened wide in a silent scream. The two slick appendages had brushed soothingly, agonizingly slowly against his insides, massaging his most sensitive spot. He arched upwards, not caring at this point whether Mercer got off on it or not.

Expectantly, Mercer let out a low growl as he pressed himself eagerly back against Desmond.

"You've never been with a woman, or a man…" He said, knowingly. "Your parents shut you away from things like that, didn't they, Miles..?" Alex put a hand to Desmond's face as angry tears threatened to spill from the infuriated Assassin. "Miles—

Desmond jerked away from his touch. "You—you don't know what the hell you're talking about, Alex..!" The Assassin snarled, and if he had been more conscious of himself, he would have noticed his sudden change of tone. It was rather minute to most people, but to Desmond, it meant that a certain ancestor of his was trying to get through to him.

"I do, Miles. From just 10 minutes spent destroying the precious little crap security system Crane installed, I know more about you than anyone does. I know about your ancestors. I've seen them; I've seen you be them." Desmond released a relieved sigh, Mercer had withdrawn the tentacles.

"…If you're going to fuck me, do it now," Desmond breathed, voice trembling. He realized the hopeless situation he was in. Optimistically, if he gave Mercer what he wanted, maybe the part where he got eaten would be mercifully omitted. Mercer grinned, his teeth gleaming almost demonically in the light from the raging tempest enveloping them.

"I'm glad you can see things my way, now." Without hesitation, Mercer's quick hands slid down to his pants, undoing the button and zipper with a speed no one else could manage. He lifted himself up, keeping Desmond held down with multiple red and black limbs.

Desmond averted his eyes, but couldn't help but hear Alex spit into his palm. Throaty moans emitted from the virus as he slicked his length. He shook his pants down, letting them slip onto the middle of his toned thighs. Looking down, he realized that Desmond still had his jeans loosely around his hips.

"This won't do…" he muttered. Mercer palmed a hand flat on Desmond's abs, brushing his calloused hands down further and further until he reached the region of tiny, dark brown curls. His fingers tightened and pulled the denim harshly off of the slightly olive skin, gathering a moan from Desmond that made his manhood stand erect and at attention. "Someone likes it rough, I see…"

"Shut—_oh_…" Desmond's words melted into a long, drawn out moan. Mercer's thick hand gripped his member with more than enough force to make him scream. A coarse thumb flicked over the tip once; Desmond jerked upwards, shuddering. "Damnit…"

Without even a warning, Mercer pushed ruthlessly into Desmond's tight hole, panting raggedly. Desmond writhed in agony, feeling himself begin to bleed. He begged Alex to stop, voice breaking repeatedly as the bitter-eyed man thrust forcibly into him, driving himself deeper into the young man.

"You like that, Miles, huh..?" He bit into Desmond's neck, feeling the flesh break underneath his teeth. The Assassin cried wantonly into his ear, his pleas making Alex even harder. His thrusts slowed, and a hand dragged Desmond's hair upwards, completely silver eyes staring mockingly at him.

Desmond couldn't bite back the tears, or hide the fear any longer.

"Please…" Desmond's voice quivered; he shut his eyes, not wanting to face Mercer's cruel gaze. "I can't…" In the back of his mind, he cursed himself for being so weak. Altaïr wouldn't have done this, nor Ezio. Neither of them had been faced with the prospect of tentacle rape, in all fairness.

"Shh, Miles. If this is about me eating you, I'm letting you know that's it not gonna happen. Now shut up and enjoy this." Mercer once again gripped his rigid flesh, softly this time, and began to stroke. Through the intense pain, Desmond found some semblance of pleasure and relief. The thrusting began again, and Desmond found himself attempting to match the rhythms of Mercer's thrusts.

"Shit…!" Desmond locked his legs around Mercer's hips, urging the man forward. He felt heat coil deep within the pit of his stomach, and twist up his groin.

Suddenly, Mercer's mouth was hot on his, and he didn't know what else to do but reciprocate. He nipped at Mercer's lips, teasing them. A curiously adamant tongue lapped at the inside of Desmond's mouth, seemingly trying to drink him. Desmond whined into the mouth above him, feeling Mercer thrust deeper.

With a loud snarl, Mercer pulled away, a thin trail of spit lingering between them. He buried his head in the crook of Desmond's neck, nursing the bite marks he had made with his tongue.

"D—damnit, Alex…" Mercer was _really _pounding into him now. Then, the multi-tentacle bearing man began quaking, mumbling incoherently into Desmond's flesh. Desmond's arms laced themselves under Mercer's, grabbing onto his shoulders. "Alex, slow down—

"Fuck..!" Mercer's hands dug into Desmond's sharp shoulders, holding them in place as he stiffened. His stomach clamped tightly, and soon he was spurting hot fluid into Desmond, grinning madly as he heard the other man's cries. He quickly moved a hand down to Desmond's length, stroking roughly.

An uncontrollable scream wrenched itself out of Desmond, ripping his release from him. A tentacle slipped its way inside of his mouth, wrapping around his tongue as he groaned. Mercer was still moving, albeit slower than before. Desmond's breath came out in large gasps as he returned from his high.

The moments following were uncomfortably silent. Then, with a slight moan, Mercer withdrew himself from Desmond. The tentacles around him seemed to have once buzzed with excited energy; now they hung limply at his side, obviously as sated as Mercer himself. Hands trembling slightly, he put himself back into his pants, all the while staring at Desmond.

"W—what the hell do you want?" Desmond stuttered. He was still only half-clothed, and what was worse; he could feel what was left of Mercer leaking out of him. He himself had shot his own essence onto his stomach, leaving him just slightly cold. He knew he looked pathetic.

"Shit!" Mercer hissed through his teeth. One of the tentacles had begun to bubble lewdly, finally popping and splattering goo everywhere. "Looks like your watchdogs are trying to get rid of me…" Mercer stood, the tentacles withdrawing into him. "Clean yourself up, Miles. And don't forget about me, because I just might come back."

He smiled that malevolent smile, with the eyes that had once again become ashen-blue. And then, he left, as if he were never there.

END

It would be kind of you to review... I'd like to know how I did on this one. Also, the error message in the beginning was completely fictional, so sorry if it doesn't look authentic... Thank you for reading!


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